Across the Courts
by greenteamoose
Summary: Drabbles about the tennis players of various schools. #06 "Art": On and off the courts, Niou Masaharu was known and feared as the Trickster.
1. Dear Prince

"**Across the Courts"**

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**Foreword**:

Born out of a desire to madly write some drabbles about the boys a week after watching the final OVA episodes, I decided to just make a series of these drabbles for the times when something comes to mind. Expect erratically-timed updates (subscribe to this fic if you like) that have no relation or order whatsoever except for the fact that all the ideas and characters originate from _PoT_.

For the readers who have not finished either the manga or the anime… I will say that the "spoilers" will go up to the very end of the series. Additionally, though I'll try to give all schools a bit of glory, I am a HUGE fan of Rikkaidai and Hyoutei :D. You may also give me suggestions on which character(s) or theme(s) to write about in case you have any particular favorites.

First up is the Prince of Tennis himself. Enjoy and please review!

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**01. Dear Prince**

_Dear prince, ai ni yuku yo. _

Across the courts across the seas in the country of Japan, there was a certain youngster known as the Prince. First impressions were deceptive; his small figure, obscured by the ubiquitous white cap that shaded his face, foretold nothing about his immense talent and his immeasurable skills once he gripped a tennis racket in his hand. Then one would take a second sharper, closer look; his bright amber eyes always aimed towards the sky but never missed anything, he stood proudly on the courts with his back straight and his stance steady, and there was a certain air about him, one of refined arrogance, one of having tasted the sweet fruits of victory numerous times, one of glowing confidence in the prospect of winning once again. One of a prince.

_Dear prince, riyuu wa iranai. _

He simply played tennis because he loved the sport. The instincts and power that he yielded now might have been forcibly ingrained deep into his body since he could stand on his two stubby legs and hold a tennis racket in his tiny hands. The initial reason for not quitting tennis might have been to defeat his father in a match and finally earning a chance to laugh in the old man's cocky face that constantly taunted and leered at him. _But he continued to play._ He chose to remain on the courts on the basis of enjoying the sheer satisfaction of catching and hitting the yellow tennis ball across the net, the sheer exhilaration of winning, of having struck the ball more times into the opposite court, of simply the sheer joy of it all: dashing across the court from line to line, feeling the firm vibration against the racket gut, playing and playing again under the bright sun and bright skies.

_Dear prince, ganbatteru! _

He was the rookie tennis player of Seishun Gakuen that toppled the reigning champions of Rikkai Daigaku Fuzoku at the National Tournament. Full of heart, he was the pillar of support that his fellow teammates turned to when the game count was 2-2 and everything—_everything they had ever worked for in the past months!_—teetered and weighed on the final match between the Prince and the Child of God. The beginning might have been rough, but he gave it his all—he played—and played—and played—and tapped into his overflowing wellspring of potential to unlock _perfection_ and finally reign over the world of Japanese middle school tennis players.

_Dear prince, tokoro ga daisuki sa._

There was just something about the wide span of the green space, strictly bounded by solid white lines and neatly divided in half by a net. It looked ordinary, but when two people stood on opposite sides of the court and played with the burning intent to win in mind, it seemed to be a battle of wits and skills, of tenacity and deception, of competition and pride. But deep down inside the core of one's soul, there was something much more pristine and pure and innocent. For who ever knew that a sport involving chasing a little yellow ball around could be so… _fun_?

_Sakura saku kono machi de_

_Ookiku waraou_

And even as the seasons shifted and sakura petals once again fell and danced in the warm spring air of Japan, Echizen Ryoma was across the courts across the seas, making yet another cheeky challenge with the all-too-familiar words, "Can you teach me tennis?"

And so began another saga of the Prince of Tennis.

_Thank you!!_

_**Fin**_

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**Disclaimer**: Konomi Takeshi owns _PoT_ and everything else affiliated with it, including the song "Dear Prince ~To the Princes of Tennis~" and its lyrics. Go listen to it on YouTube! I got the lyrics from **youtube (dot) com (slash) watch?v=t1xztEZbsAc**. Once again, feel free to subscribe to this or give me suggestions for character(s)/theme(s) if you wish to.

**Majorly abridged translated lyrics **from previously stated YouTube video:_  
Dear prince  
Ai ni yuku yo _(Let's meet up)_  
__Dear prince  
Riyuu wa iranai _(We don't need a reason)_  
Dear prince  
Ganbatteru _(Try your best)_  
Dear prince  
Tokoro ga daisuki sa _(I love that place)__

Sakura saku kono machi de (In this town full of blooming sakura)_  
Ookiku waraou _(I can give you a big smile)_  
Thank you!!_

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.moose


	2. Dandelion

**"Across the Courts"**

**02. Dandelion**

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_Game set! The match is over with 3 wins to 0. Rikkaidai wins and proceeds to the finals!_

It felt surreal. Amidst the roar of the cheering crowd, Shiraishi Kuranosuke, second year of Shitenhouji Chuu and soon-to-be captain of the tennis team, sat on the cold, hard bench in apathetic silence. He closed his eyes, his bandaged left hand clenched tightly together but otherwise not knowing how to respond.

_Swept away_. It only took three straight losses to ensure the end. All their dreams of winning the National Tournament with glittering trophy and the majestic crimson victory flag in hand, all their hard work in straining their muscles and bodies into facing battle on the courts, all their training together as a team in all conditions through rain and shine and mud and grass… they were all _washed away_ in a matter of minutes, mere seedlings of a dandelion _blown away_ in a mighty yet almost nonchalant wind that was Rikkaidai.

_Helpless_. There had been _nothing_ he could do. He never had the chance to play in Singles 1 and to show Japan his own special style of tennis. What did it all amount to? What was the purpose of having such a unique style when it could not even guarantee to clinch a win for his team? Now together in line with the rest of his team, he stood on one side of the net facing the yellow-clad tennis team of Rikkaidai.

_Thank you for the match!_

_A strained courtesy_. He never hated a group of eight people more. They seemed so heartless and overbearing, their gaze set only on their second consecutive national win. Both teams saluted and left. Shiraishi thought of nothing else but that _unfeeling emptiness of sheer loss_, like a matured dandelion with its feathery white seedlings gone. Just a single lonely stem swaying meekly in a paltry breeze. Just a thin little weed that could be so easily crushed. Just something so _false_, so _helpless_, so _insignificant_.

He collapsed onto the unforgiving bench and leaned back, staring blankly at the skies through the open roof of the stadium. Straining to see past the bright sunlight, he narrowed his eyes and wondered how something so pure and beautiful could be such an annoying hindrance today. Just swaying along the fringes of his vision, he thought he saw a tiny particle floating gently in the light winds. His bandage left hand snatched it out of the air, and he sat up straight to curiously examine it.

One dandelion seedling—yes, tattered—but still_ intact and pure and white all the same!_—laid in the palm of his hand. He closed his eyes again and smiled with—what was this feeling swelling in his soul and glimmering in his eyes?—the _hope_ for one more wish. Just for next year. When he would reveal his _perfectly_ chiseled tennis. When he would follow a _perfectly_ scripted play from his bible.

When they would clinch a _perfect_ _win_ for sure.

**_Fin_**

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**A/N**: But what hurts is that we know Shitenhouji will lose in the semifinals… again :(

**Disclaimer**: Konomi Takeshi owns _PoT_.

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.moose


	3. Promise

"**Across the Courts"**

**03. Promise**

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Tezuka—do you remember that day when we played for the first time—but you suffered such a loss because those sempais had hurt your arm—and I'll never forgive myself but I, in my anger, grabbed your collar, demanding a second chance that even now has not yet manifested itself—yet I ask myself the many _why_'s—_why have we never stood across the net, facing each other again_—_why are we so frightened of finding out who's stronger_—_why oh why can't we keep just one single, simple promise_—though we see each other every day as acquaintances—schoolmates—teammates—friends? _After this tournament is over, will you have a match with me_—is what I ask—and I'll forever hold dear your short, sincere response—_Sure,_ _if that's what you want_—until the very day when we finally, finally, finally fulfill our promise to each other.

_**Fin**_

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**A/N**: Perfect Pair galore~

**Disclaimer**: Konomi Takeshi owns _PoT_.

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.moose


	4. For the Love of Sweets

"**Across the Courts"**

**04. For the Love of Sweets**

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_As far as Marui was concerned, Valentine's Day was the one love of his life, but it never occurred to him that that special day fell on a weekend this year._

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There was only one day—with the exclusion of his birthday—that made Marui Bunta bound up at the first sound of his alarm, already as happy as ever. Violet eyes gleamed as he ran a comb through his vivid red hair and slipped on his tie in preparation for school. Briefly, he glanced with gushing love at the calendar, which showed the month of February (there was an enlarged photo of a cheesecake, displaying its creamy white texture in its full glory, and that was quite adorned with glistening berry sauces) and the day of the 14th marked (rather, circled in the shape of a heart with a fat red marker, complete with doodles of little baby hearts and roses) on a Thursday.

With only a buttered toast (slathered with jam and honey) in his mouth, he rushed out the door with his school bag swung over his back, not noticing how empty and quiet the house seemed for a weekday. His mind was utterly filled with the thought of all those _chocolates_. Oh yes; that day was the one and only Valentine's Day. As far as Marui was concerned, it was the one love of his life, for it was only on Valentine's Day that he could get _all the free sweets_ he could ever have wished for. Who cared if all these sweets came from rabid fan girls screaming, "We love you, Marui-samaaaaaaa!" while gravitating towards him at light speed? Marui was perfectly content to just accept all the (many) gifts and happily consume them all (usually it would take him two months to finish; it was quite a pity that he could finish his Halloween candies in a mere half a month).

It was only when he reached Rikkaidai that he first realized the signs of Something Wrong. He stopped abruptly at the gates and looked around the empty campus.

"Where is everyone?" Marui said blankly in great confusion.

"Marui-kun?" someone suddenly spoke up from behind him.

"Huh?" Marui said, whipping around and immediately recognizing the identity of the speaker. "Oh! Good morning, Takahashi-sensei!"

"What are you doing here?" the Rikkaidai principal, a man in his forties questioned, an expression of confusion equal to Marui's on his face. "It's Saturday."

"Saturday??" Marui exclaimed. "You can't be serious!!"

His mind rushed back to the image of the calendar on his wall. Surely, as clear as day, he recalled that it was Thursday the 14th of February that was flamboyantly marked and circled in vibrant red ink. Was the phenomenon of Something Wrong messing with his mind? (However, unbeknownst to the volley specialist, a certain Trickster had switched the calendar in his room with an identical one from last year, even exactly copying the red markings around the 14th. That, apparently, would explain Marui's apparent confusion with the days. But as that would be another story, we will leave that aside and return to our young hero.)

The principal frowned.

"I am quite serious, Marui-kun," the man said stiffly. "Now please head on back home and come to school on Monday. Good day."

With that, the principal left the flustered boy as he headed towards his original destination. (Why the principal had decided to walk past the school on a weekend would be a complete mystery to us as well.) Marui merely gaped at the man's retreating back. Then he returned to gaping at the empty campus. Then he would have sat down and bawled himself out at the sorrowful prospect of receiving _no chocolates_ _at all_ today, but as Marui Bunta was a member of the Rikkaidai tennis team, the absolute kings, he would handle himself in a dignified manner.

As such, he opted for rushing straight towards the house of Jackal Kuwahara, his doubles partner.

**##**

Jackal stared. Then he blinked. And stared some more. For Marui was _pouting_ at him with such big, glassy eyes. Never before, in all their time as teammates, had he ever seen cheerful Marui look so despondent. And _without chewing any bubblegum_.

"Jackaaaaaal," Marui was wailing. "It's Saturday!"

"I'm… aware of that," Jackal said awkwardly.

Marui scowled at the other boy's apparent indifference.

"Valentine's Day is on a Saturday this year!" the redhead proclaimed loudly, waving his arms for effect.

"I see… Um, would you like to come in?"

Marui's scowl deepened, wondering how someone so _oblivious_ to the endless joys and sheer sweet delicacy of Valentine's could exist on this earth, but decided to accept the invitation anyway. He stomped into Jackal's house and, without stopping to gaze in wonder at the unique Brazilian decorations he usually gaped at, planted himself at the kitchen table. In his huffiness, he failed to note the strangely strained expression on his doubles partner's face, as though the latter boy was trying not to burst out in uncharacteristic laughter.

"Would you like some chocolates I saved from Halloween?" Jackal asked rather tentatively.

Marui shot him a withering glare, under which the usually-stoic defense specialist flinched and backed away.

"It's _Valentine's_ _Day_," the volley genius snapped, his voice growing increasingly louder with each word as he resumed his wild arm-waving. "You don't go around eating leftover chocolate when you could get free, fresh chocolates from doting fans! Why do you still have chocolate from nearly four months ago, anyway? And yet—"

"'—today is a Saturday. I can't get Valentine chocolates when there's no school,' is what you were going to say… right?" someone finished.

Marui started and stared at the direction from which he heard the eerily familiar voice that had correctly predicted his every word. Yanagi Renji, the master, stepped out from the shadows of a house plant in the corner of the kitchen, his lidded eyes looking calmly in the direction of the redhead.

"Yanagi!" Marui said, startled. "Why are you here?"

"Why our strategist is here is not important," another voice put in, also coming from the same direction. "What's important is that _you're_ here."

And Niou Masaharu stepped out from the shadows of the house plant, his eyes gleaming under the streaming sunlight.

"Heh, Yanagi really did make a correct prediction as to which house you would run to," the silvery-haired boy smirked.

Marui nearly toppled off his chair at the sight of the Trickster.

"Wha—Niou?? What are you talking about?"

"Hey, hey, Niou-senpai… can we finally give them to Marui?" Kirihara Akaya suddenly chimed in, also popping up from behind the house plant.

"Have patience, Akaya," Yagyuu Hiroshi said sternly as he slipped out of the shadows of the house plant and pushed up his glasses by the bridge. "We have to follow the plan."

"Hehe, this is turning out to be rather fun, right, Sanada?" Yukimura Seiichi smiled, emerging from behind the plant as well, along with the silently brooding fukubuchou.

"What the hell is going on!!" Marui screamed, dreadfully confused and having forgotten his original frustration. "And how can so many of you hide behind that small, dingy house plant??"

"Well," Niou drawled, clearly enjoying seeing Marui's state of franticness, "you said you wanted chocolates from your 'doting fans,' right? Since you won't be getting any from our classmates today, we thought that we, as _your_ fans for today, would give you _our_ chocolates."

"Specially homemade!" Kirihara added happily, bouncing over and shoving a large, heart-shaped red box with glittering pink ribbons (there was a live rose stuck into the knot of the bow; Kirihara later said that he had managed to snip one from the nearby park before heading to Jackal's house) into Marui's shocked face. "Here you go, Marui-senpai!"

"Ah…"

And thus Marui was subjected to receiving garishly ornate, extraordinarily bright boxes of all shapes and sizes (though Sanada's was a small, humble one black in color with a burgundy ribbon consisting of what he muttered was actually store-bought chocolate) from his teammates. Kirihara had even given Marui a huge fluffy teddy bear that had a patch of strawberry-red fur on its head, a yellow jersey as its shirt, and a transparent, apple-green sphere stuck to its mouth; Marui thought that its resemblance to himself was quite startling.

**##**

The entire scheme of Something Wrong with Marui's Saturday Valentine, as it turned out, was laid out by none other than the original perpetrator of Marui's calendar glitch, with the assistance and data of Yanagi. The other members of the tennis team joined in for the fun of it, though Sanada had to be coerced and prodded until he finally and grudgingly agreed; he claimed that he did so solely for the sake of Yukimura.

As we slowly leave the Rikkaidai team to their own devices, it would perhaps be best to note that Marui was secretly elated to receive chocolates on a Valentine's Day over the weekend in spite of his original state of numb shock. He did, however, make a personal note to not try Niou's chocolates for fear that the Trickster had "accidentally" slipped some strange substance into them. Additionally, Akutagawa Jirou from Hyoutei, to Marui's surprise, had also arrived knocking on the redhead's door ("Sugoi! I found Marui-kun! Marui-kuuuun!") and exuberantly given him homemade cake and chocolates. Marui personally found it disturbing that the other boy had somehow found his address all the way in Kanagawa.

On the whole, Marui admitted that the Valentine chocolates he received were quite delicious. He would, after all, do anything for the love of sweets.

_**Fin**_

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**A/N**: Crack is far from being my forte; I hope this not-really-a-drabble turned out alright. Happy Valentine's Day (:

**Disclaimer**: Konomi Takeshi owns _PoT_.

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.moose


	5. Glasses

"**Across the Courts"**

**05. Glasses**

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_In which Atobe attempts to divulge the meaning of Oshitari's glasses._

**##**

"Oshitari, ore-sama demands to know why you wear glasses when your eyesight is perfectly fine," Atobe Keigo said regally.

The said tensai smiled upon hearing the question that Atobe posed every day once he learned the truth about his glasses. As a joke last week, Mukahi had stolen Oshitari's glasses, thinking that the latter boy would be myopic without them. Once he realized that Oshitari could see just fine without the twinkling spectacles, he had run all over the tennis courts, announcing the discovery of this amazing piece of fact to everyone within hearing range. Needless to say, this had piqued the curiosity of quite a few people, one of whom was none other than the king of Hyoutei himself.

"Because," Oshitari answered casually, "people will become cursed if I don't have my glasses." *

Atobe frowned, contemplating this answer. (Oshitari had given different answers each time Atobe questioned him, some of which included strange statements along the lines of: "The prime minister himself gave me these glasses as a gift to commemorate my tensai-ness" and "I can communicate with extraterrestrial beings.") Indeed, Mukahi had tripped over a tennis ball in his mad dash, causing him to wobble around the school with crutches and a bruised arm for some time. However:

"Ore-sama does not believe in such superstitious stories," Atobe countered.

"Oh?" Oshitari smirked, his glasses flashing in the sunlight. "Would you like to try, Atobe?"

An uncomfortable silence ensued in light of the tensai's words. Atobe shifted his weight (not fidgeted—because the king _never_ fidgeted out of nervousness, nor did he ever pale at the thought of the supernatural) and flipped his hair in true Atobe style.

"Ore-sama is above such commonplace nonsense," Atobe huffed. "Carry on with your usual business, then, Oshitari. Come, Kabaji."

"Usu."

And the king departed—a little too swiftly, Oshitari keenly noted—with Kabaji and an imperial wave of his hand.

The blue-haired tensai chuckled at their retreating backs.

"Who knew that I would have so much fun simply because I wanted glasses to look smarter?"

**FIN**

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**A/N**: *Inspired by Tsukiyume-Yue's "The Cursed Glasses." (It's on my Favorite Stories list if you're interested.)

**Disclaimer**: Konomi Takeshi owns _Prince of Tennis_.

.moose


	6. Art

"**Across the Courts"**

**06. Art**

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_On and off the courts, Niou Masaharu was known and feared as the Trickster. _

**##**

With his flowing silver hair and gleaming teal eyes, he could be easily spotted strutting casually down the hall, his tie loose at the neck and his shirt tails fluttering in the wake of his excursion. Girls would scamper away from him in whispered twitters and hastily muffled squeaks, and his fellow male peers always avoided his gaze uneasily.

"Niou-senpai, you're too scary sometimes," Kirihara often chided with a grin. "That's why all the girls and even guys run away from you."

The second year would have continued his teasing, but a glare from Sanada three courts down would snap shut Kirihara's mouth, causing the poor boy to scurry off with his tennis racket in hand before the stern fukubuchou could bark out laps for him to run. Niou would smirk while Yanagi cocked his head (inevitably gathering data) and Yukimura smiled his usual kindly smile.

Scary? Peering at himself briefly in the mirror before he left for school one morning, Niou thought otherwise. There was nothing scary, really, about his bleached hair and smug, cocky look. Even Yagyuu, the _Gentleman_ of all people, could pull off a Niou attitude and a Niou glare if he wished to, as he had proven many times while they impersonated each other.

What many people failed to understand was that his trickery was a sort of _art_ that naturally melded and molded into his own tennis style. It took skills and wits and insight and calmness to be able to manipulate all five senses of his opponent into the realms of an illusion—slowly, slowly ensnaring the foe into a drifting nightmare until he struck and they would wake but remain enraptured in the folds of the dark dream—slowly, slowly edging the one on the other side of the net into an unpleasant shock, fallen off, clinging onto the last wisps of sanity with desperation. Even if they acknowledged his _artistry_, they still whispered and fearfully called him the swindler, a most troublesome player on the courts, the frightening _petenshi_ who excelled in the subtle secrets of trickery.

Then again, he was but a humble artist.

"Puri."

**FIN**

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**A/N**: _Petenshi_ = tricker/swindler. I love Niou :]

**Disclaimer**: Konomi Takeshi owns _Prince of Tennis_.

.moose


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